by Lori R. Lopez
The path was overgrown, carved from many journeys before rains dried up, rivers and lakes vanished. Before heat blazed a new era when everything withered in order to survive.
Soft flesh toughened to wrinkled hide. Vegetation turned hungry. Anything alive had an appetite for anything else.
Enduring by luck and paranoia, a man-thing darted to safety beyond the whipping strands of Snake Grass that might drain him dry. Stone had no thirst, no craving. But luck deserted him. What dwelled between rock and a hard place would bite then suck. A parched sigh escaped, along with his emaciated soul.
For more from Lori R. Lopez: